


Valley 6 Drive In Movie Theater

by Arisprite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Hauntings of Actual Places, Nostalgia, Sam and Cas friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisprite/pseuds/Arisprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein, Dean and Castiel have been hunting together while Sam finally finishes his degree. All is fine until Sam wakes in the middle of the night to a panicked Cas, telling him Dean went on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days. </p>
<p>Inspired by a prompt on tumblr by destiellockedin221b, and my feelings on the Valley 6 Drive In Theater being closed for good. </p>
<p>Visuals <a>Here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam’s apartment door was painted neatly, Castiel distantly noticed. The trim was elegant, and the knob was a shiney metal in the dim hallway light. The apartment interior was quiet: understandable, as it was sometime in the middle of the night. Castiel had never really gotten into the habit of keeping track of human hours, nor of sleeping during them. 

_Pound, pound, pound_

Castiel knocked again, quick and urgent, willing the doorknob to turn. He was resisting the urge to yell through the door, less because of the neighbors that would be disturbed by the actions, and more because it would definitely aggravate his throat, and he didn’t want to set off another coughing fit. 

_Pound, pound pound_

Finally, Castiel picked up muffled thumping, a shuffling inside that was the tired version of Sam’s familiar walk. They paused in front of the door, and then pulled it open in a rush. 

“Cas?” Sam stood there, looking sleep mussed, and tired, but healthy, which made Castiel glad. 

Another of the doors in the hall opened, one of Sam’s neighbors, and a man’s head poked out. 

“Sam, everything okay?” He asked, and Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. Sam blinked, and waved a hand. 

“Yeah, Mike, he’s a friend. Sorry, go back to sleep.”

Mike grumbled, and pulled his door shut. Castiel turned back to Sam, who was looking suddenly alert and worried, now that the prying eyes were off him. 

“Come inside.” Sam said, and Castiel followed him into his apartment. It was dark still, but Castiel could see a clean kitchen, and a squishy looking couch.

Sam pulled out two kitchen chairs, and sat him down, which Castiel was grateful for. He had yet to fully recover. 

“Cas, what’s the matter? Where’s Dean?” Sam said, urgency in his tone. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know.” He said, his voice rougher than usual (and not just from his illness). “He went on a hunting trip, and I haven’t heard from him in a few days.”

OOOOOOOOO

It was nearly a week ago now, that Dean got the call. Castiel had been huddled on the couch in the bunker, coughing into a tissue and attempting to pay attention to the movie Dean had put in. When the phone rang, Dean had waved off his offer to pause it, saying he’d seen it before, and gone into the other room. Castiel had paused it anyway, not feeling up to watching it without Dean jostling his arm to emphasize the important parts. He sipped his tea, and laid there miserably until Dean got back. It appeared that there was a case up in Washington State. Some old friends of Bobby’s had found it and contacted Dean. 

Castiel roused himself to listen, sitting up slightly more on his stack of pillows. Dean jiggled the phone in his hand, looking apologetically at him. 

“I’d ask them to find someone else, but they were friends of Bobby, and Dad. I actually owe them one, for something way back, so I didn’t think I could say no. Sounded like a straightforward salt and burn, though. Shouldn’t take too long.”

Castiel nodded, dragging himself upright with a jerk.

“Just give me a minute to shower...uh...”

His eyes blacked out from the abrupt change in elevation, and he stumbled, the room spinning. 

“Woah,” Hands grabbed his arms, and Dean lowered him back to a horizontal position. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m fine,” Castiel protested, his vision clearing until he saw Dean’s skeptical face. 

“Sure you are.” Dean shook his head. “You’re not coming. I’ll make a batch of soup before I leave, and stock you up on meds.”

Castiel opened his mouth to protest, and Dean lifted a hand. “You need to get better, not drive up to the rainy state with those lungs.” As if in agreement, Castiel felt the immediate need to cough. He tried to hold it in, and ended up choking on it, coughing hard into his elbow. When he finished, Dean looked smug. Castiel felt well enough to flip Dean off, a gesture he was still rather proud of learning. It only made Dean laugh, which wasn’t exactly the desired result. 

With a groan, Castiel pulled himself into a sitting position (he wouldn't try standing again just yet). 

“I can help.” He said, looking up at Dean with a glare. His head only spun a little this time, so he dared to scoot forward. “You can’t go alone.”

“I’m going to meet up with Bernard when I get there. I won’t be alone.” He pushed Castiel back against the pile of blankets and pillows and tissues with a soft fump. Blinking blearily, already exhausted, and recognizing another approaching fever like he’d had the day before, Castiel gave in and relaxed back where he’d been put. He really felt truly awful, but he still didn’t want Dean to go on a hunt without trusted backup. 

“Call Sam at least. California isn’t too far out of your way from Washington.” Castiel said, lifting his head again, and fixing Dean with his stare. It was less than effective. 

“He’s busy with school, you know that Cas. Degrees ain’t easy to get.”

“Dean...”

“Cas, don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

Four days later, when Castiel could stay awake for more than four hours at a time, and when Dean didn’t answer his phone for the forty second time in a row, Castiel knew that all was not “fine”.

OOOOOO

He sat in Sam’s kitchen, and tried to explain what he knew. It wasn’t much. 

“He neglected to leave his contacts’ names or numbers, and Garth didn’t know them, though he is checking for me. Charlie pinpointed his phone’s signal from somewhere south of Seattle--” He paused to cough against his fist, “And she’ll stay in touch.”

Sam was frowning, his face pinched. It had already been exhausted when he opened the door, and only looked worse now. Then again, Castiel himself probably looked little better, judging by the way he felt. He coughed again. 

Sam started, his face upturned. 

“God, man, do you want a drink of water?”

Castiel lowered his fist, leaning his elbow on the table. 

“That would be nice.”

Sam got up, and poured him a glass from the tap, and Castiel took a grateful sip. Sam sat back down, his leg jiggling. 

“And you don’t know anything about the case he was working?” 

Castiel rubbed his head. He had a lingering headache, and the two day drive from Kansas had not helped, even though, to his annoyance, he had stopped last night and slept when his body demanded the rest. 

“No, Sam. As I told you, I was feverish when he left, and fell asleep soon after. Even if he mentioned it, I wouldn’t remember.”

“Damn,” Sam mumbled, tapping the table top in a disjointed rhythm. Then he clapped his palm on the table, and stood. “We’ll have to head to Washington, try and find where the signal is coming from. Maybe Garth will get back to us by then, with the names.”

Castiel dozed at the table for the few minutes that it took for Sam to pack a bag. Sam shook him awake, a tight half smile on his face. 

“Maybe I should drive?” He said, putting out a hand to pull Castiel to his feet. Blinking, Castiel nodded. 

“That’s probably a good idea.” Now that he’d stopped, and delivered his news, he felt waves of exhaustion crashing over him. It was a good thing that he hadn’t sat on the couch, or he didn’t know if he’d be able to drag himself up again. He abhorred being ill...the tiredness lingered far longer than seemed reasonable. 

The drive up the Oregon coast was tedious, even though he slept for a good portion of the beginning. Castiel felt his all too human anxiety rising with each mile. Sam handled Castiel’s 1994 Jeep Cherokee with lines of tension in his arms and white knuckles on the steering wheel. After Castiel had learned how to drive, he’d picked the jeep from Bobby’s car lot. Dean had fixed it, all the while bemoaning the gas milage and general ‘crappiness’ of the car, but Castiel liked it. 

Sam navigated through the Oregon traffic with much cursing, using back roads, and avoiding I-5 as much as possible. He said he was saving time, but Castiel couldn’t feel it. Every moment dragged out, each moment where Dean could be hurt or dead, unable to respond, maybe never to be found again. Castiel’s thoughts caused his stomach to churn, which wasn’t helped by the twisting roads of the highway. Time, that strange human linear concept had never felt so slow. It used to be holistic, and multidimensional and so much much complicated, but now he couldn’t comprehend a fraction of what he used to. 

Periodically, he tried Dean’s cell. It went straight to voicemail by this point. If Dean was somewhere he couldn’t charge it, it would have died days ago, even if Castiel hadn’t been calling it over and over, but it was still slightly reassuring to hear Dean’s voice in the recording. Sam had tried too, for a while, but now he simply drove, his muscles jumping with tension.


	2. Chapter 2

They were stopping to fill up on gas (Dean’s allegations about the milage perhaps ringing a bit true now) and Castiel took the moment to go inside, on to relieve his bladder, and two to buy more water bottles. He found he was needing to sip the cool liquids constantly or his throat itched and scratched until it erupted into a coughing fit that left him gasping with tears beading in the corners of his eyes. Sam had stopped the car after one of them, but Castiel waved him on, and tried to just keep drinking after that. He was nearly out of water now. He was pondering the claims of the cough drops that lined the shelves, when his phone rang. He pulled it out hurriedly, even though he knew it wasn’t the jarring electric guitar that designated Dean’s phone, but rather the generic ringer. 

“Hello?” He croaked, and had to pull the phone away to clear his throat. He grabbed the cough drops and went to the checkout stand, with that and the water. 

“Hello, is this... Cas?” It was an older sounding man, and he stumbled over his name. 

“Yes, who is this?” Castiel said, pulling his wallet out to pay, nodding at the cashier as she passed him his receipt. 

“My name is Bernard. I was the one who called Dean Winchester a few days ago. He left your number.”

Castiel stopped on the concrete outside the store, his eyes flashing to Sam, who looked up from where he was pumping the gas as if he felt it. 

“Where is he?” Castiel demanded, clutching the phone tightly. 

There was noisy breath. Sam finished with the car, and jogged over. Castiel stood absolutely still, only lifting a finger off its grip on the phone, motioning for Sam to wait. 

“I don’t know how much he told you about the case we gave him, but it was supposed to be simple. Hardly a case at all. We already had the name. After Dean burned the corpse we thought it was over. But then another kid went missing, and Dean did as well soon after.”

“Why didn’t you call me then?” Castiel said, his body strumming with angry tension.

“We didn't know at first, that he’d gone after the missing girl. When I couldn’t get a hold of him, I went to the motel he was staying at, and I bluffed my way into his room. I have his notes and everything, but we just can’t go out after him ourselves...”

A flash of rage heated Castiel chest, and he barked at the phone. 

“Why not?”

There was an uneasy chuckle, and Bernard spoke again. 

“We’re both quite old, you know, son. My wife, Ethel, is nearly blind, and I’ve got the arthritis bad. It’s why we called Dean in the first place.”

Castiel stifled a cough, and spoke again. 

“We’re already on our way to Washington.”

“How long will you be?” 

Castiel went to answer, and choked, that cough coming back with a vengeance. Sam grabbed the phone while he coughed, and spoke to the man. 

“Hi, yeah. I’m Sam, Dean’s brother. We’re on our way...yeah, we can get there by four or five. Sounds good. Thank you.”

Sam hung up the phone, and put a hand on Castiel’s curved back, steadying him until the fit died down. He dug into the plastic bag he’s been clutching, realizing his fingers had white marks across them from gripping so tightly, and opened a bottle of water. 

“You okay?” Sam asked, eying him. Castiel nodded. “They’re in Auburn, about five hours away from here. You good to go?”

Castiel took another drink from the bottle, and nodded again, tired of having to assure everyone that he was alright. He put his hand out. 

“I’ll drive.”

OOOOOOO

The retirement community Bernard and Ethel lived in was near the southeast portion of Auburn. Castiel pulled into the well tended neighborhood around six, and shook Sam awake from his doze. He straightened up, and looked around. 

“We here?” 

Castiel grunted an affirmation, and rubbed his head, closing his eyes against his fingers. It had been a long (though beautiful) drive through Western Washington’s landscape. His stress had at some point just solidified into a knot of white worry behind his breastbone, and the last of the drive had been made in a sort of daze. 

“Which house is it?” Castiel asked, and Sam squinted at the numbers on the outside, and then pointed. 

“That one.”

They knocked on the door, and after a long few minutes, a woman answered. She was small and brown and wrinkled with laugh lines and fairly glowed with good cheer. She smiled widely, her face pinched, eyes nearly shut in an effort to see them. This must be Ethel. Castiel remembered what her husband had said about her being nearly blind, but it didn’t seem to deter her as she grabbed them around the middles for a hug. 

“Boys! You must be Cas and Sam!” Ethel exclaimed, pulling back, and turning to call over her shoulder. “Bernie! It’s Cas and Sam! Get your lazy ass out here!”

There was a muffled call from the other side of the small house. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Ethel turned back to them, her strong hands still gripping one each of Castiel’s and Sam’s arms. 

“It’s good you’re here. We were so concerned when young Dean didn’t show up for breakfast, he promised he would. You boys hungry? Of course you are, you had a long drive, didn’t you?”

Castiel had his eyebrows raised. It was rare that he got such an enthusiastic reception, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Sam was smiling weakly, trying to remove his bicep from her fingers. 

From a room at the end of the short hallway, a door opened, and a taller man with a head of wiry white hair limped out towards them. He smiled as wide as his wife had, and put out a knobbly hand first to Sam, and then to Castiel. 

“You must be Dean’s family. We’re so glad you came.”

Sam smiled in greeting, and nodded. 

“I’m Sam, Dean’s brother. This is Cas.”

Castiel nodded, gripping his hands together. His anxiety was building, now that he wasn’t moving, and he wanted nothing more than to go out to the car again, and go off to wherever Dean had gone. He felt so close.

“Well, you boys must be starving, what with driving from...where was it again? Oh, no matter...” 

Ethel tugged them into the tiny kitchen, chattering about diner and the foods she loved to cook, and Castiel felt something in him snap.   
He pulled his arm out of her grip, and ground his teeth. 

“Cas--” Sam started.

“Where is he?” Castiel growled, so very done with these polite niceties. “Dean’s been missing for four days. He could be hurt, or worse!”

Sam put a hand on his shoulder, and Castiel turned his head to yell at him too, for not worrying as much as he should have, for hiding it better at least, but Sam cut him off. 

“He’s right. We need to find him now.”

Bernard rubbed his knuckles together. 

“Of course, you must be worried.”

He led them to a table in the kitchen, this one piled with papers and a older laptop computer. Castiel saw maps, sigils scribbled on scraps, old books on ghosts and wendigos. 

“We still like to help, keep a lookout for strange things, you know. We found the case a few weeks back, just in some forum thing on the internet. There’s a drive in movie theater here, used to have been running for years, but it’s been threatening to close for the past few of them. This year it got made official.

“Anyway, through the years there have been ghost sightings. Just a little girl, laughing or playing. Then, the place closes down.

“There are a couple of missing kid cases in town, there always are, but this post swears that it all has to do with the closing of the drive in theater. Then, a body was found, two months ago. One of the missing kids, dead of exposure and starvation. The police are saying that he ran away, but no one can account for why he’d stay out at that place long enough to starve to death. I’m thinking, the ghost kept him out there.”

Sam was looking ponderous. 

“It got lonely. I’ve seen that before.”

Castiel looked at the case files that Bernard handed around, showing a young boy, maybe nine or ten, smiling at the camera.

“Yup. So it was easy enough to find out who the girl was. Emily Cooper, hit by a car on the lot in 1983, hit her head on a metal pole and died from complications. That’s when I call Dean, ask him to do the digging, which he does, night he got here. Case closed, we thought.”

“What happened then?” Sam prompted, when Bernard looked away, frowning. 

“Ethel invited him over for breakfast before he headed out. Not a lot of room, or we would have let him stay here. Wish we would have done that now. I talked with him on the phone right after he burned the body, and he agreed to swing by in the morning, but he never showed. After that, everything happened like I told you on the phone. Got the stuff from his room, and found out about the report of another missing girl, Sylvia Lambert. He must have gone after her, but he never came back.”

Gritting his teeth, Castiel refrained from expressing how much of an idiot Dean was sometimes. 

“Where is this theater?” He asked, setting down the case files. Sam, beside him, was tense and attentive. 

Bernard nodded, and gestured. “About fifteen minutes north of us. I’ll draw you a map.”


	3. Chapter 3

There was little to do now, but to go and investigate, and hopefully (though it was unlikely, a part of him said, which the rest of him helpfully told to _shut up_ ) find Dean alive and well. The drive was short, much shorter than the thirty seven hours from Lebanon to Stanford to Auburn, but this last stretch was unbearable. Castiel often felt the constricting claustrophobia of his new humanity, it sprang upon him in countless unsuspecting moments, but it had never been so consuming. Castiel figured it wasn’t just him, as Sam was nearly twitching out of his seatbelt.

The road turned, and Sam maneuvered the car down a long lane lined with tall leafy trees. Through the breaks in the trees, they passed one towering screen, a dingy white, whereon the movies were projected before the place was shut down. They were obviously in need of repair, the bricks losing their paint, and even falling out in places. They stood on frameworks of rusting brown metal, and were overgrown with blackberry brambles.The whole place had the air of a used-to-be, an area once filled with fun and people, and now was just empty, haunted by more than the ghost child. 

They came to a fork in the road, and then stopped. On either side of them, there were rows of rotting ticket booths, their red roofs mouldy looking, and saggy. Most of the lanes still had the barriers in place, preventing cars from coming through, save one in the row to their left. 

“That’s the way Dean went.” Sam said. He creeped the car, turning it towards the path Dean took. As they pass through the space between the booths, Castiel catches a glimpse ahead. A shiney, black, achingly familiar shape. She sat there, pulled to the side of the lane like Dean had left her minutes ago, were it not for the leaves and pollen dust that coated the body.

“It’s the Impala.” Castiel said, pointing, and Sam swore. They parked a few feet behind her, and Castiel jerked his door open. He suddenly saw images of Dean, bleeding out in his car, injured, unable to call or drive for help. He stumbled on sore legs to Dean’s baby, and pressed his hands against the glass the way Dean always told him not to. Inside was clear, no bodies, no blood. Nothing much beside the residue of trash after a long drive, and notably, Dean’s phone. 

His hands left sweaty marks on the windows when he pulled away, seeing Sam jogging up. 

“Anything?” He asked. Castiel shook his head. 

“Nothing besides his phone. That’s why he hasn’t responded.”

Sam looked in, cupping his hands around his eyes, but not quite touching the glass like Castiel had: ingrained in him since childhood, Castiel guessed. 

“Damn, he _knows_ better than to leave his phone. Especially on a solo hunt!” Sam cursed, whipping around, and peering into the rest of the theater. 

It was set up in diagonal squares, each with a screen in the corner. Spreading outwards were rows of raised mounds, set up with poles about chest high, spaced like a parking lot. Where the cars would park, he guessed. 

The ground underneath them was slowly changing from concrete to gravel, and Castiel understood why Dean had stopped the Impala here. He hated to drive her over unstable ground. 

A quick glance at each other, and as one, Sam and Castiel went to the trunk to stock up on weapons. As he grabbed the container of salt, Castiel felt a chill slice through the warm air. It felt like rage and loneliness...Castiel felt a stab of sympathy, but he grabbed his shotgun anyway.

They walked a little further, towards an old building in the center of the lot. It was cold, both because of the setting sun and long shadows, as well as the lingering feeling of the ghost, watching them. Castiel pulled his jacket around himself with his free hand, getting a better grip on his shot gun with the other. He wished the crunch of their footsteps on the gravel and dead grass wasn’t so loud, wish the canisters of salt didn’t bump against their hips with a rhythmic grainy drumbeat. 

Sam walked beside him, his own gun at the ready. HIs tall girth was somehow a comfort in the dimming place. It was the perfect time for ghosts. 

Sam paused as they reach the boarded up building; he gestured, the universal ‘let’s check that out’. Castiel circled around the back of the place, while Sam took the front, trying to see if there was a way in. It was an old concession stand, looked like, with a small eating area outside, worn tables and a serving counter. Completely boarded off, of course. Castiel went further, and found two open doorways, labelled for mens and womens restrooms. He ducked inside one, and saw grimy toilets in their stalls, and a door to the inside. It was also boarded up, the board came loose with a good pry, and then a kick and he was in the main room of the food stand. 

The temperature was about ten degrees cooler inside. 

A shattering crash in the front, and Sam squeezed through the now open window. He’d broken it. Castiel frowned. 

“Quiet, Sam.” He said, in a hiss. Sam gave him what Dean had often termed his “bitch face”. Castiel glared back for a moment, and then they both looked around. 

It was decorated like many a diner he’d been in. Cracked red table tops, a jukebox in the corner, and standing arcade games lined one wall. There was a counter dividing the building, behind which, Castiel could see industrial grade kitchen equipment, much like what was in the kitchen at the bunker. 

“See anything?” Sam asked, coming up to him. 

“Dust and dirt.” Castiel said, and muffled a cough in his sleeve. “But she is here. I can feel her.”

Sam nodded, a shiver running up his frame. Castiel stopped himself from shuddering too, though every hair on his body was already standing. The adrenaline was coursing through him, and his chest felt tight with fear and anticipation. There was a presence with them there, and it wasn’t happy. 

“Sam, you said she was lonely, but I’m not sure that’s true anymore.” Castiel murmured. Sam shook his head. 

“She definitely doesn’t want us here.”

Castiel didn’t have time to answer, as a cold blast blew through the room, scuttering their clothes, and making their guns waver. Castiel gripped his tighter, as a child’s shriek sounded, echoing, distant but also too loud. 

Sam tensed, and Castiel followed his gaze. They both raised their guns. There was the little girl, Emily Cooper, standing in front of the now broken window. She was small, tens years old probably, wearing torn jeans and a bright shirt under a purple hoodie, though her clothes and skin were dull, translucent in death. She was spattered with her own gore, the blood from her head wound making her bobbed hair stick to her face on one side. She stood hunched and stiff, anger in her very aura. 

“Where’s my brother?” Sam demanded, aiming his gun directly at her head. She snarled, and lifted a tiny hand, releasing a blast of power. A scraping sound was their only warning, and they both dove out of the way as an arcade game came hurtling towards them. Castiel rolled over his shoulder, and came again to his feet, grateful for his still quicker than human reflexes (though still much slower than his angel ones, but he didn’t think about that). He crouched, ready, looking for the ghost child. She flickered from her place by the window, coming at him quicker than his eyes could follow. Her hands outstretched for his neck, but he raised his gun and blasted her away, rock salt dissolving her form for the time being. 

Sam was also up, and aiming, while Castiel reloaded quickly. There was no way of knowing how fast she’d reappear. 

“Damn, she’s strong.” Sam muttered. Castiel nodded, his gun now ready and at his shoulder. 

“We need to find Dean.” 

It was possible he was here in the very building they stood in, so Sam and Castiel took turns searching and standing guard, combing the room and the kitchen beyond, for Dean or any evidence he’d been here. Nothing. 

They were leaving the kitchen, when the temperature dropped again. Castiel’s breath fogged in front of him, and then Emily Cooper was back, screaming. She used her powers to fling metal racks, and kitchen instruments at them. A broken pole embedded itself in the wall near Castiel’s head. He shot at her, and missed, her flickering form too fast for him to get a fix. 

Then in the echoing of his fire, he heard a distant sound, an unmistakable yell. It was Dean. 

“Sam, he’s here!” Castiel yelled, looking back in time to see Sam take a hit to the back of the head with some large, twisted metal thing. He dropped, and the ghost was on him, clawed hands outstretched. Castiel yelled, this time in fear, and shot his gun once more, probably spraying Sam with rock salt bits, but also getting Emily. She vanished with another scream. He reloaded as he ran, falling to his knees beside Sam’s form. 

Sam was moving already- a good sign, and Castiel heard him moaning. There was blood in his hair, on the back of his shirt collar, but he turned his head wincing, awareness in his eyes. 

“Sam, stay still.” Castiel ordered, but Sam pushed himself to his hands and knees. 

“I’m fine...” He said, moving a hand to the back of his head, and wincing. “Sort of. No concussion.”

Castiel wasn’t so sure, but what he’d heard was pressing on his mind. 

“Sam, I heard Dean outside. We have to get out there.”

Sam nodded, and stood, Castiel supporting his momentary wobbliness. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Castiel asked, knowing if Sam passed out he wouldn’t be able to carry him. Sam nodded again, his face pinched, but determined. 

“I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

They ran outside, and Castiel pointed towards the direction he’d heard the yell. 

“His voice came from that direction.” Another movie lot was to the north of them, but this one had been abandoned longer than the others had been, judging by the state of the screen and the plant growth. 

“If there was anyplace in this place a ghost would hide...” Sam muttered, and Castiel agreed. It was the perfect place, from the overgrown plants and brambles spread across the uneven field, to the deteriorating screen, brown with rust and dirt, and shot through with holes and rotting bricks. 

Sam started jogging towards the back of the lot, yelling out. 

“Dean! Dean are you there?” His voice was loud and powerful, and Castiel ran after him, looking backwards for any sign of Emily. 

“Sam!” Dean’s voice sounded, too distant to get a read on his condition, but _alive_. Castiel felt something loosen in his chest that had been tight for days. 

They were yards from the screen, and Castiel picked out a human shape near the base. It had to be Dean. Then, Emily Cooper slammed into Castiel, her body both intangible, and rock solid, icey cold. He fell to the ground, and cried out, trying to keep her fingers from his throat, his chest. She looked like she wanted to dig his heart out. Her eyes were wide, inhuman, full of rage. 

“No! I want them!” She seethed, and Castiel growled back, fighting with every bit of his human strength, wishing in vain for his angelic power. It would be so easy to smite her, but he had mere human hands. 

“Cas!” Sam yelled, and aimed the gun, but she whipped around and vanished before he could shoot. Castiel gasped, coughing, and sat up. Sam pulled him to his feet. 

“Get to Dean, get him and whoever’s with him out of here. I have a plan.”

He took off sprinting towards the cars before Castiel could answer. 

Emily Cooper flickered into sight, lunging after Sam, but Castiel shot her again, earning themselves another few minutes. Sam had reached the Impala, and was opening the trunk, so Castiel whipped around, and crossed the last few yards towards the screen.

“Dean!” He called, and was rewarded with a scuttling noise, and a shout.

“Cas! I’m here!”

Hidden in the undergrowth, behind the bars holding up the view screen, Castiel saw Dean huddled over a smaller shape. He was peering over, and broke into a smile to see Castiel racing towards him. 

Castiel skidded to a stop, and crouched, and pulled Dean into a hug. Dean’s arm came up too, and he huffed against his neck. Castiel pulled back, hands on his shoulders, and met Dean’s eyes. 

“Are you alright?”

Dean grinned. He looked alert, but not healthy. His lips were chapped, and broken, skin pale. Blood was dried at his temple. His eyes were sunken but bright. 

“Dehydrated, but ok. Damn, I’m glad to see you.” Dean’s voice was crackly, worse than his had been since getting sick. 

“You too.” Castiel said, pulling back. Dean shifted, and Castiel saw that curled on his lap was a small girl, the missing Sylvia Lambert.   
Her hazy eyes lingered on his for a moment before sliding closed. Castiel felt a pang go through him. 

“Is she alright?” Castiel asked in a low voice, though it was obvious what the answer was. Dean shook his head. 

“She’s not doing so good.”

Dean held Castiel’s worried gaze. 

“We need to leave. The ghost could come back any time.” Castiel said, glancing back towards the cars. Dean nodded, looking as well   
over his shoulder. 

Dean gathered the girl in his arms, and went to stand, but his legs wobbled, and Castiel had to dive forwards to grip his shoulders. Dean grunted, his head rolling forward. 

“Take her, take her...” He gasped, and Castiel grabbed Sylvia from him, while Dean staggered, and fell back to his knees. 

“Dean!” Castiel gasped, clutching the girl, and bending down. Dean was shaking his head slowly, blinking. 

“Sorry, dizzy. You don’t happen to have any water, do you?” Dean rasped, but Castiel had to shake his head. 

“Back at the car. Can you get there?” 

Dean took a breath, and nodded. 

“Give me the gun.” 

Castiel had been holding the shotgun awkwardly with one hand, mostly occupied with holding the unconscious girl, but handed it over to Dean. He used to it to lever himself up, and then he stood, wavering slightly with the gun in a half ready shooting position. 

“Okay,” Dean breathed again. “I’m okay.”

They started hurrying towards the cars, Dean stumbling across the lumped rows, up and down between dips. The weeds clutched at their feet. Castiel held the warm weight of the girl, and keep an eye on the possible return of Emily, and the other eye on Dean, who looked steadier but still terrible. 

“The salt and burn didn’t take.” Dean said, “I came back to get Sylvia, and she attacked. She wanted us to stay, play with her.”

“She must have something here, at the lot, tying her here.” Castiel said. “Sam said he had a plan.”  
In the distance, Sam was moving around the building, holding a red object. He shook whatever it was, and then jogged over. Yellow liquid trailed in his wake, and Castiel caught the scent of gasoline as he got closer. He held a metal rod inside of his gun, in deference to the flammable liquid. 

Dean stepped forward. 

“Sam, you’re supposed to be at school!” He said, frowning. Sam shook his head, smiling. 

“Glad I’m not. Could never pass up a chance to save your ass. ” Sam’s smile faded, and he poked a finger towards Dean’s chest. “And you’re supposed to keep your phone on you, and to not go on solo hunts.”

“Cas was sick-”

“Guys, this isn’t helping.” Castiel cut in. While they had argued, Castiel had felt ice creep down his spine. The emotions of the ghost were getting more powerful; rage, betrayal and intense sadness. “She’s coming back.”

Sure enough, she appeared, between them and the cars. Her face was more inhuman now than it had been, twisted and dark. 

“No!” She barked, half temper ridden child, half monstrous wail.

“Cas, get her to the car!” Dean said, urgently. Castiel hesitated, torn between saving the child, and protecting Dean and Sam, and in that moment, the ghost attacked. Her form flickered, as she suddenly jumped him. He tried to protect the girl as what felt like a hammer made of ice knocked him to the ground. Sylvia slid from his grasp, and then steel fingers surrounded his already abused throat. She knelt on his chest, shrieking. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam give the iron bar to Dean, and swing the girl up into his arms, running to the cars. Castiel tried to get a gasp of breath, but Emily Cooper wouldn't let him, squeezing and squeezing and _squeezing_.

“Get off him!” Dean cried, and swung the bar through the space above him, right through the ghost girl. 

The pressure released from his chest, his throat, and Castiel gasped, blinking away tears of pain. His airways burned, and he felt his chest clench in a coughing fit, worse than it had been in days. He curled around his lungs, his ribs screaming. 

Dean was above him, and he pulled his shrinking body upright, and then to his feet, even as Castiel still curled up. He couldn’t _breathe_. 

“Sorry, buddy. We gotta get out of here. Try to breath.” Dean rasped, feeling shaky himself, even as he supported Castiel. The lightheadedness continued, but Castiel slowly regained control over his breath. 

“Remains...” He choked, and Dean nodded. Castiel realized he held a lighter. 

“Sammy doused the place in gas. We’ll throw the light as soon as we’re clear, but we gotta hurry.”

Castiel nodded, and arms around each other, they lurched into a run. It was only a short distance to the cars, but the fire already in Castiel’s lungs were telling him he wouldn’t make it. He ignored that and pushed harder. 

Emily shrieked again, and Dean glanced back, saw her rushing them. 

“Now or never.” He muttered, and he shoved Castiel forward, across the line of plants, nearly making him smack his head on the bumper of the Impala. Sam was in Castiel’s car, idling the engine, ready to go as soon as Dean and Castiel got in, but Dean was still too far. 

Dean lit the lighter, and tossed it towards Emily Cooper. It landed at her feet, and lit a stream of gasoline. The ground was ablaze in seconds with a _whumpf_!

Dean was running towards him, and Castiel picked himself off the ground, grabbing out for Dean’s wrist, and pulling him forward. He tugged the car door open, and dove in, leaving Dean to start the car, and throw it into reverse. 

Squealing tires and thrown gravel told him that Sam was already driving the other car, and Dean was right behind him, putting distance between the now roaring flames and Impala. 

Suddenly in the midst of the inferno, a shape spasmed. A face, eternally twisted in rage and fear and pain distorted around a scream. Emily’s spirit burned up to go the way of ghosts, to a place that was still mysterious even now. The flames climbed higher, but it was just fire now, consuming the snack stand, and making it’s way up the screen. Parts tumbled down, and then Dean turned the corner, following Sam up the lane, and away from the lot. 

Then the car was filled with just the sound of their breathing, both fast and raspy, and the smell of dirt and smoke. 

“Damn.” Dean said, shakily.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

“A drive in theater seemed a less than effective way to watch a movie.” Castiel commented, taking a sip of his own water bottle (the one Dean hadn’t stolen). Sam was leaning on the road barrier near them, and smiled. They were on their way. It had taken a while, both to get Sylvia Lambert to the Auburn Medical Center (and for Dean to vehemently refuse medical treatment past all their arguments) and for them to take their leave of Bernard and Ethel. They’d fed them a wonderful breakfast, and tried to get them to stay for longer. As it was, both Sam, driving Cas’ car, and Castiel and Dean in the Impala were well stocked up with food and supplies for their journey. 

Just now they were parked at a rest stop, taking a lunch break before venturing into the traffic of Portland. Castiel was glad of the break, if only so that his hands could uncramp from the Impala’s steering wheel for a moment. He was still a little nervous to be driving Dean’s baby, even though he was fully confident in his abilities. Dean, however, was in no state to drive, at least not until he got two more good nights sleep, and drunk at least his weight in water. They’d all agreed they didn’t want to stay there in Auburn for more than another night, so they’d set off in the morning. 

Dean was next to him, curled up on the bench seat. He was looking better than he had (when the hospital staff had nearly tied him down to get him to stay) though he still had bags under his eyes and a grey pallor to his skin. He sipped water every few minutes, and short of an IV, there was little more that Castiel could do for him. Honestly, he thought Dean just wanted to get home. Castiel couldn’t blame him, he felt the same. 

At his words, Dean shifted from where his head had been leaning on the window, pillowed in Castiel’s jacket. 

“What?” Dean asked, his voice tired, but less crackly. Sam passed two sandwiches through Castiel’s open door for Dean and himself. It was a warm morning, and the sun warmed the inside of the car pleasantly. 

“Drive ins. It seems they would bring an unusual viewing experience. How do you hear, for one thing?” Castiel had seen the poles, and the screens, but no speakers, and it seemed like the view would be terrible if you were sitting in a car near the back, and the screen was so far from you.

Dean was picking at the bread on the sandwich, grimacing. Castiel made a note to make sure Dean ate it. Sam took of bite of his own sandwich, and spoke around it. 

“Drive ins are more about the fun of going, instead of the movie.” He said. Castiel furrowed his brow. Dean nodded. 

“They weren’t really meant to be awesome looking.” Dean shifted his head, getting more comfortable. “You know humans and our nostalgia. It’s the experience.”

Castiel nodded. “Ah,”

Sam swallowed, and nodded. “Exactly.”

Dean continued. “You pile into the car with your blankets and pillows, tons of junk food, and drive off to the drive in. The speakers work by tuning into the right radio station, so you hear it in the car. Before it gets dark, you can play outside, or run around, catching fireflies. Once it’s dark enough, the movie’ll start, and you get comfy in the front seat, and sit and watch the movie. It was great.”

Dean’s voice had been soft and warm, and Castiel understood. Something about remembering the good times brought a note of tenderness to the past. 

“You’d go as a child?” 

Dean nodded. 

“It was never that expensive, so Dad would take us sometimes. Then when I got older, I took Sammy a few times. Or girls.” Dean finished with a smile. 

Sam was watching Dean’s face indulgently, his own thoughts seeming lost to the same memories Dean was experiencing. 

“It sounds nice.” Castiel said. Dean shifted again, coming up straighter. 

“Yeah...nowadays, they’re mostly out of business. Not enough income, people would rather go to the nice theaters where you can see clearer. Pay a butt load too...”

Castiel glanced over again, and saw the melancholy on Dean’s face. Sam was more downcast too. 

“That drive in was probably the last of its kind in the area. I frankly don’t blame the ghost for being upset.” Sam said. 

Castiel frowned, cleared his throat. 

“There’s something I noticed while I was watching the earth, all those years.”

Dean looked over, relaxing back into the seat. “Yeah, what’s that?”

“It’s that the adult generation will always be sad about how times have changed, but to the children, childhood is always a time of nostalgia. The youth today will have their memories, different than yours, yes. But they’ll remember the good times, just as you do. Humans have a funny way of cycling like that.”

Dean huffed, smiling. “Guess you’re right. 

Sam smiled too. 

There was silence for a while, as they chewed their food. Ethel really was an amazing cook. Eventually, Castiel heard Dean softly snoring, most of his food lolling out of his hands. Castiel removed it from the danger of falling, and handed it back to Sam, who placed it in the cooler. 

“Thanks,” Castiel murmured, and stepped out of the drivers seat, closing the door softly. The cool breeze blew through the half open windows, but Dean wouldn’t get cold. He leaned back against the cement barrier beside Sam, and sighed out the last of his tension from this whole episode. 

Sam was at ease as well, and he tilted his head to catch Castiel’s eye. 

“I’m glad you came to me, Cas.” He said. “Dean’s lucky to have you watching out for him.”

Castiel half smiled back, thinking it was probably the opposite.

“We’re lucky to have him.” He murmured, his gaze lingering on the curled up form in the interior of the car. Sam placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder, jostling his whole body.

“We’d better get going.”

Sam walked over to Castiel’s jeep, and Castiel eased himself into the Impala again, and started it. The music blared out, but Dean didn’t stir. Another small smile flickered on his lips, as he turned the music down, and drove out of the parking lot. 

Dean was safe, and they were heading home.


End file.
